The Long Road Home
by Umbrella-ella
Summary: March 1918. As the war rages on, Edith finds her calling helping soldiers recover from the horrors of war, but when a certain familiar face arrives at Downton, her world is thrown into turmoil as she learns that the war leaves no one untouched, even those close to her heart. Anthony/Edith
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I absolutely love Anthony and Edith, and I've always been firmly entrenched in the Downton fandom as an Anna and Bates fan, but with the recent unwelcome storylines concerning all of my favorite characters, I asked myself 'why not rectify some of Fellowes' biggest mistakes?' Namely, of course, Anthony and Edith's relationship. This fanfiction is an alternate look at what could've happened in series two, and thusly, ends out on a happier note than Julian's story did, though not without its hiccups along the way. _

_Disclaimer: Downton Abbey is not mine, unfortunately._

* * *

Edith clambered up the stairs, her last burst of energy having left her some time before supper with the family, and she heaved a deep breath as she reached the landing, eager to ease her aching body into the soft security of her bed. Her eyes were heavy and her feet were sore, the hard labor something she was unaccustomed to until the recent changes, but welcomed nonetheless— she was doing _something,_ at least.

The decision to make Downton into a convalescent home hadn't been an easy one for Papa, but Edith was glad for the change. It gave her the opportunity to help. She had considered becoming a nurse, as Sybil had done, but had decided if one daughter having a career was enough to send Papa into a fit, she could only imagine what having two would do to the poor man. But as it was, she helped in any way she could, delivering mail, books, and meals to the injured men— maybe she couldn't stitch a wound or set a bone, but she could keep the spirits up. Mama and Papa had gone to bed shortly after supper, and so had Mary, the ache of Matthew's departure still fresh in her mind, and Sybil was still up, tending to the few men that had arrived half way through the night.

The light rustle of fabric from the next room alerted her, and suddenly a man was standing there, his dark features illuminated by the glow of the fire that crept from behind the half open door.

"Excuse me, Lady Edith?" Edith smiled lightly at that— she had told Roger Smith repeatedly that they need not stand on ceremony, that she was simply doing what she could, and that she expected to treated as such, nothing more.

"I've told you, Captain, it's Edith, if you please. We don't need to be formal here, not now. I'm only—" A sharp laugh erupted from the soldier, interrupting her, and he finished her sentence for her.

"Doing your part, I know. Old habits die hard I suppose." He winked and Edith grinned, pleased at the rapport she had developed with the young man. His lanky frame leaned against the doorframe, and he stood nearly a head and a half taller than her, his robe draped loosely around his shoulders, and Edith swallowed a sympathetic smile as her eyes fell to the place his left foot should have been, and the crutch to the left that had replaced it.

"How's the leg, Captain?" Edith smiled kindly, pushing her sadness to the far corner of her mind.

"Alright. I'm getting better with the crutch, I think. I might go home next week— I got a letter yesterday from Mother. She says Pa might need me on the farm, but I'm not sure he'll use me after…"

Edith silenced him with a look, touching the Captain's arm in a comforting gesture. "Now, we'll have none of that. Not when today has been such a good day, hmm?" The young lad, for that was what he was, barely twenty now, dropped his head, his face flushing as he accepted her words.

"You're right, of course, La— Edith." Edith dropped her hand, satisfied that she had comforted the young man as he lifted his eyes to her and offered her a tentative smile.

"Now, what can I get you?"

"Actually, I wanted to return this," he spoke softly, his eyes flicking to the volume of poetry he held, his fingers brushing the faded gold leaf lettering on the leather cover with a delicacy that made his quiet demeanor all the more endearing, "I've finished with it, and would like to borrow the next volume. I do enjoy Byron, oddly enough. It helps me sleep better at night." Edith accepted the anthology, slipping it carefully from the soldier's outstretched grasp and tucked it safely in her arm.

"Of course. Would you like it tonight or tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow is fine… Edith. You do have to sleep sometime, I suppose." With a final nod of thanks and a slight smile, the Captain slipped away, the door thudding dully as Edith moved along, her heart lighter with the news of Captain Smith's eventual departure.

Edith slept soundly that night, unaware that tomorrow, her world would be turned shaken to its very core.

* * *

The next morning dawned cold and grey, the early morning fog slipping past the front gates of Downton, and Edith watched from the window as the sun rose. Daisy had yet to light the fire, and her toes tingled as they met the cold floorboards of her room.

The first ambulances of soldiers were scheduled to arrive at seven that morning, and it was only half past five. Edith was very much awake, despite the early hour, and her mind drifted to Sybil, thinking that perhaps she could see to the new arrivals while her sister gained some well-earned rest. Smiling to herself, she moved to her vanity, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her pale face was drawn and tired, but she couldn't bring herself to care, not when she felt so renewed.

As the ambulances drove up the lane an hour and a half later, Edith received them, a smile on her face for every soldier as the footmen and nurses hoisted stretchers and helped men limp across the threshold, and her grin stayed until she met the bluest eyes she'd ever seen— she could never forget those eyes.

Sir Anthony Strallan shook visibly as she spotted him, though whether it was from the cold or the shock, she didn't know.

The surprise upon seeing such a familiar face, let alone _his, _sent a bolt of electricity running through her, and she fought to regain her rapidly expanding thoughts. Instead of going inside and letting the nurses see to the remainder of the patients, Edith ignored her nerves and every last bit of sense she had screaming out at her to run, to hide, but it was too late— there he was, and now she stood in front of him, looking down at him from where he sat uneasily in the wicker wheelchair, a tentative smile gracing his beautiful face.

For a moment, her breath caught and her lungs felt as though they might burst, her heart pounding against her ribs— she felt as though she was suffocating, and the air, once crisp and cool, was thick with tension. She studied him for a moment, his hollowed face, his drawn stature, and— she swallowed as her gaze shifted to his right arm, drawn to his chest by a sling, and his wrist bound by bandages that barely peeked out from beneath the sleeve of his uniform. His long fingertips draped across his chest, pale and unmoving, and he grimaced as she let her eyes meet again.

"Lady Edith. Hello," he said stiffly, "How do you do?"

Edith smiled sadly as she reached to brush his arm in welcome, stopping herself and instead dropping her hand uselessly.  
"Well, thank you. Can I— I assume you're here as a guest?" She spoke cautiously past the cotton that seemed to dry her mouth.

"I—" he paused, gesturing to his lame arm and the chair and she suddenly felt foolish for her question, "Yes, I'm afraid I am. Of course, I could go to Newberry. It's not far— If it would put you off in anyway, I can—" Anthony looked away, even as Edith protested, drawing her sweater closer as she watched a puff of breath escape his lips.

"Stay. I insist," Edith's voice filled the air, and suddenly, it seemed as if they were the only two people on the driveway, despite the racket going on around them.

"Please."

She knew she sounded foolish, desperate, even, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She needed to see him, to be sure he would recover well. Her gaze bored into his cool blue irises, and she could see his resolve slipping.

"Very well, I suppose I can stay," he offered, his voice barely above a whisper as he smiled crookedly, his acceptance of Edith's plea warming her heart.

And with those seven words, Anthony Strallan and Edith Crawley's fates were irrevocably entwined, even as she wheeled him up the drive and into her life once more.

* * *

_A/N: I hope you're interested, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy it as the story continues. I will do my best to update fairly regularly, in the meantime, if you'll leave a review with some feedback, it'd be much appreciated! _


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Edith makes a stand and Anthony and Edith share memories over a copy of _Jane Eyre. _Shorter chapter, unfortunately, but this one's a precursor to a very big development in Anthony and Edith's story. And I'm writing this at eleven o' clock at night and I still have to do my Astronomy homework. _

_Disclaimer: I don't look like Julian Fellowes, and therefore, I am not Julian Fellowes. I'm much nicer, too._

* * *

"Anthony Strallan? Here, at Downton? I knew he'd volunteered, but I didn't know he was on the front lines!" Robert's surprised expression, were it evoked in any other circumstance, might have caused Edith to smile, but as it was, Edith simply nodded in acknowledgement. Edith pushed her food around, her stomach fluttering wildly as she avoided the gazes of her sisters. Mary, she was sure, could care less, but Sybil's compassion might be too much to bear.

"Yes," Edith began carefully, "He is here, and he is a guest in our house. He is recovering, and it will take some time for him to recover— four of his ribs are broken and his arm is— it is doubtful therapy will help very much." Edith shut her eyes.

She sounded ridiculous.

She listened to the clink of cutlery against the china plates and suddenly wished she could be back to work, handing out letters to the soldiers and taking orders for books— if only she were anywhere but here.

"Surely he can recover at Locksley?" Papa's voice was hushed, as if he were speaking only to Edith, and she lifted her gaze to counter her Papa's sharp glance.

"No, Papa, he cannot. The nurses are few and far between, most of them are in Paris, and you cannot expect him to stay alone in a great house with no one to care for him when his injuries are so severe he is limited to a few steps a day!" Edith swallowed, and suddenly fell silent, preferring to stare at her eggs as her cheeks pinked.

Papa had clearly been startled, and Mary raised her eyebrow in surprise while Sybil remained silent, drawing her fork to her lips before chewing contemplatively.

"Will you be alright, though? After all, he was going to—"

Edith had had enough. Dropping her fork with a loud clatter, Edith pushed her chair away from the table with a grating scrape.

"I'm not a child, Papa! Stop treating me as though I am a china doll! And for your information, he graciously offered to leave and convalesce elsewhere, but I made him stay." Edith was only dimly aware of Mary's audible gasp of surprise as she stormed from the room, eager to leave the stifling pressure of her father's questioning.

When she was sure her father wouldn't follow her, she stopped and sank against the wall. The corridor was nearly empty, save for a few stragglers here and there, but as Edith sighed shakily, she didn't care. Edith was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hardly heard Sybil's arrival, but instead sank gratefully into her sister's embrace.

"Are you alright?" Sybil asked, and after a great silence, the only interruptions the clack of billiards in the next room and the loud cheers of soldiers, she spoke again, "It was foolish of Papa to be so abrupt, but you know he means best."

Tearing herself away, Edith looked at her sister. Ever wise and eager to spare a kind word, Sybil had been the one to comfort her after Anthony's departure and the announcement of the war, and now, in her nurse's uniform, she looked even more compassionate than Edith thought possible.

"Of course, you're right, Sybil, but he doesn't need to treat me like a child. I'm perfectly capable of determining what— or whom— I can and cannot face." Edith took a breath, proud that she was finally standing up for herself, even if it was only Sybil, who knew all of these things already, "I have seen so much these past months— if anything, seeing Anthony again is a blessing. I'm glad he's alright. All of the news from the front has been so awful and for once, I'm glad to see a familiar face, because at least Anthony is alive. Your chauffer is lucky. He didn't need to go…" Sybil blushed at this, and Edith placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I won't tell, you know. I'm a good secret-keeper, really, when I need to be." With a light smile and a nod, Edith excused herself, feeling a little lighter than she had since the arrival of Anthony that morning.

* * *

For the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon, Edith managed to busy herself with the soldiers, more than happy to chat with them and read through their mail with them. Many of the men had minimal schooling, and as such, their letters proved difficult to read. Others had injuries that made reading impossible or very labor intensive— many of the men here at Downton were victims of trench warfare, where gases had been used extensively, sometimes blinding the men altogether. It was these men that Edith was most eager to work with.

While the nurses bustled about, doing their rounds, Edith would sit with one or two of the men and write their replies personally. It was nearly seven in the evening when Edith saw Anthony next. The green drawing room was nearly empty, reserved for the higher in command, and Edith knew she would see him here. She had avoided him all day long, but it was only right to face him here. She tucked the short list of library requests into her book and went in. A few officers greeted her upon her arrival, but her eyes found him automatically. Dressed in the standard striped pajamas issued to all soldiers here, he looked smaller than usual in the wicker wheelchair and it was with a pang that Edith realized he had lost quite a lot weight for someone so tall and broad.

His face was turned to the window, and she felt her heart constrict as she watched the oranges and pinks of the sunset streak across his tired face. He looked exhausted, his hair mussed slightly, and his hand folded neatly in his lap as he watched the sun drop below the horizon. Edith picked her way through the maze of beds and stopped short of him, the book heavy in her hand.

"How are you settling in?" Edith asked, unsure of what to say to get his attention.

Startled blue eyes flickered to hers and Anthony stuttered for a moment before saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, Lady Edith, I'm afraid I was far too distracted for my own good. I'm fine, thank you. I was just admiring the sunset— I'd forgotten how much I missed Yorkshire. All the mud and grey in France, one forgets the attributes of home quickly, you know." Anthony smiled nervously, turning his face back to the grounds.

"Well, someone must find a way of bottling the essence of home then, hm?" Edith smiled as Anthony chuckled lightly in agreement.

After a brief moment of silence, Anthony spoke.

"Can I help you, Lady Edith?"

"Oh, yes, I came to give you this, really. I know you hadn't finished it quite yet. I remember from our last conversation. I would dearly love to know what becomes of Jane and her dear Mister Rochester." Edith shifted slightly, offering him the book, and he took it quickly, a flash of shame flaring in his eyes at the mention of their last conversation.

Nearly four years ago, they had sat in his Rolls, sputtering down the lane on their way to Downton for luncheon and afterwards, a garden party that Papa had insisted upon to cheer up Mama, passionately discussing the themes and tones of Charlotte Bronte's greatest work and laughing at the idea of being so utterly impassioned about the subject that they'd actually ended up in quite the argument over it. Edith smiled reassuringly, hoping she hadn't upset him terribly. Anthony returned the gesture before wheeling towards the clean, neatly made bed.

Sheepishly, Anthony turned to Edith. "You must think me a fool, but could you—?" Edith knew what he was asking, and in two quick movements, she had lifted his good arm carefully and braced herself to help him move onto the bed. With a groan and a slight grimace, Anthony settled back onto the pillow and retrieved the copy of _Jane Eyre_, which he had deposited on the edge of the bed.

"No more moving about tonight, Sir Anthony— your ribs are in a delicate condition, and I'll not have you endangering your full recovery." Edith scolded him playfully and cracked a smile for good measure. "If you do, Sybil will have my head for certain."

Anthony drew the covers up about him and with a cursory nod, bade Edith goodnight as she left, her steps echoing down the hall as she went.

* * *

_A/N: Not very dramatic, I know, but as I said before, the next chapter is bound to be a big one. Leave a review!_


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